Four Continents Watson
by delightful-fear
Summary: They have been friends for years. Now, they are trying for more. Will they get there? New relationships can be so fragile... (JOHNLOCK, Future Fic, Sequel to Q & A)
1. Chapter 1

The server came by with a large silver basin and kettle, which he set in the centre of the table. Picking up the kettle, he waved encouragingly to John and Sherlock.

John placed his hands over the basin. "This is to wash our hands before the meal." Sherlock copied him, and the server poured warm rose water over their hands, as they rubbed them together. John dried his hands with the towel provided, and passed it to Sherlock afterwards.

"Have you ever eaten Moroccan food before?" John asked, shifting on the low upholstered seat to be a little closer to Sherlock.

It didn't feel like they were in central London. The restaurant was dimly lit, with ornate metal lanterns overhead and candles on the tables. Intricate wood screens divided the space into more intimate pockets. The walls were painted a soft orange that contrasted beautifully with the dark woodwork.

Sherlock shook his head. "Is it like Lebanese cuisine?"

Taking his hand, John played with Sherlock's long fingers. It was still an adjustment when he did things like that, a zing of awareness and desire tingling through Sherlock.

"Not really. I'd recommend trying the tagine here. It has chicken and sweet potatoes, cooked slowly with cinnamon and other spices." John seemed relaxed and happy, sipping some white wine.

Their server came back, and they placed their order.

John shifted even closer to Sherlock. "I couldn't stop thinking about you today." His breath was warm on Sherlock's ear.

"Oh really?" Daringly, Sherlock shifted his hand to rest it on John's thigh, feeling it's warmth through the dark denim. It was still a thrill to be allowed to touch casually like this. "And what were you thinking?"

Leaning closer, John kissed Sherlock near his ear. "How much I wanted to spend an hour or two just worshipping your neck." He nuzzled in, dragging his cheek over Sherlock's skin before planting a small kiss down a few inches.

A shudder ran through Sherlock, and his hand slipped to John's inner thigh, playing along the inner seam. It was tempting to slide his hand up further, but they were in a public place. "You should do that when we get home."

Their meal came shortly, and when the server theatrically removed the cone shaped ceramic lid, the wonderful aroma of the sweet and savoury stew made them both sit up in interest.

John chuckled as he showed Sherlock how to eat cous cous using his right hand only. "Just pick up a smaller amount, and kind of toss it on your cupped fingers until it's a little ball." He demonstrated, and tossed the loose clump into his mouth.

Sherlock tried to copy him, but ended up with the small spheres all over his hand. "Hmmm. Maybe I should stick to the potato and meat."

"Don't worry about it. They bring the water around afterwards to wash our hands again." John scooped up some date and chicken with a small piece of bread, looking like a natural.

Something about that just made Sherlock's mood drop a little, and he ate quietly, letting John dominate the conversation, encouraging him to talk about the clinic.

When they got home later, John pulled Sherlock down onto the sofa. "Something was off for you tonight. You seemed happy at first, but you got quieter in the last half of the meal. Did you not like the food? The company?"

Things had been a lot more open between them since doing the questions together. They were more willing to discuss things like this now, and Sherlock gave John a quick hug.

"It was a beautiful restaurant, and good food..." Sherlock started, not sure how to put his feelings into words.

John nodded encouragingly. "But..."

Sherlock sighed. "But...I watched how good you were, eating with your hands, and I wondered how many other dates you had brought to that restaurant over the years."

Cringing slightly, John took Sherlock's hand. "You know this feels so much different than anyone else I've dated."

"Because I'm a man." Sherlock said flatly.

John squeezed his hand lightly. "Yes, but because you are a good friend. Someone I care about so much already."

"I get that, but I still...," Sherlock sighed in frustration. "I don't know. I guess I wonder if you are taking me to your favorite date places, places you have been with others."

John seemed puzzled, and took a few moments to think about it. He still played with Sherlock's hand, the small strokes making him feel that low buzz of awareness between them.

"I don't know what we can do about that, Sherlock. I've dated a lot of women over the years, been all over London with them." John shrugged.

"It's haunted by ghosts of your past girlfriends." Sherlock chuckled, trying to lighten the mood a little.

John shifted closer, wrapping an arm around Sherlock's lower back. "Are you also a bit nervous about people seeing us out together? Looking like we are on a date?" He had noticed Sherlock didn't seem to like holding hands when they were out on the street.

Sherlock sighed again. "I'm sorry, but I feel a little uncomfortable with it. We are recognized sometimes, and what if things don't work out between us? It wouldn't be good to look like a couple until we feel more secure in this."

John understood, nodding. "OK, I hear you. Let's keep the PDA low for now, and I'll try to take you places I haven't taken dates before."

"Sorry for being like this." Sherlock didn't want to seem too demanding on their dates either. It was fantastic spending time with John, in the way he'd dreamed of so long.

Leaning closer, John gave him a light kiss. "You are so, so worth it."

Grabbing John, Sherlock kissed him harder, and they both got into it. Soon, Sherlock was lying on the sofa with John on top of him, kissing down his neck the way he had promised earlier.

The chemistry between them was undeniable, and Sherlock gasped as he felt John push a leg between his. Hardness nudged against his thigh, and he knew John was just as aroused by all this as he was.

Still, thoughts were whirling through his head. "Um...John...," he said softly, running a hand down John's back.

Tilting his face upwards, Sherlock was struck by seeing John like this. His hair a little messy, his eyes dark, aroused. Gorgeous. "Hmmm?"

"How did you get the nickname 'Three Continents Watson'?" Sherlock had heard Mike teasing John about this when they were all out together months ago.

John chuckled. "It's just something dumb. Army humor. Mike must have heard stuff about me from some common friends."

That didn't really answer the question. "So, it's from being ...intimate...with women from three different continents?"

Pulling back a little, John looked at Sherlock questionly. "Well, with women in the British army, not locals, in different places. It's just a joke."

"Which continents?"

John gave a half-laugh. "Um...Europe, Asia, and Africa."

Sherlock pondered this. "Afghanistan is in Asia. When were you in Africa?"

"I went on leave to Egypt with a friend once." John gave Sherlock a long look. "Does my past bother you?"

As much as he wanted to say it didn't, Sherlock eventually had to nod. "I'm sorry. I'm not judging you. I don't know why I keep thinking about this."

"Well, you aren't alone. I keep thinking about what you said in that 4 minute description of your life. You mentioned that your twenties were a blur of sex and drugs." John admitted.

They both sat up, cuddling together on the sofa, the mood a bit spoiled now.

Sherlock ran his hand through his hair. "I don't really remember a lot of it that clearly, John. I was high during most of it. It was just another way to escape reality."

"Was it with only men? Or women also?" John asked.

Sherlock sighed. "Mostly men." He turned towards John. "We both have our pasts. We obviously can't just erase them and start fresh. We have to accept that and move on."

"Maybe we could go away together, somewhere neither of us has been before. It wouldn't be haunted by my old girlfriends and we wouldn't be as well known." John said, half-joking.

"That's a great thought." He smirked a little, an idea popping into his head. "Hmmm...maybe we could make you into 'Four Continents Watson' by the end of the trip."

They both laughed hard at that, and John grabbed his laptop. They scrolled through a few travel websites. The flight times were too long for Australia or South America. Antarctica was too remote.

"Mexico, USA, or Canada?" John asked, looking at a map of North America.

Sherlock's green eyes scanned over the image. "Well, I'm not really a beach guy, and don't want to hang around in huge malls with stupid people. So Canada?"

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's impression of Americans. He zoomed the picture of Canada to fill the screen. "OK, which part?" He'd never been to that country before.

Closing his eyes, Sherlock waved his long fingers over the screen, and then pointed.

His finger had landed on a place in the eastern half of the country. John moved his hand away, and peered closer, reading out the city.

Sherlock nodded. "Well, I doubt your blog has a huge readership there. We can probably walk around without being recognized."

John was scrolling through some pictures. "It looks beautiful. Are we really going to do this?"

Leaning in, Sherlock gave him a quick kiss. "I think it will be great. A week or so, just the two of us. We can concentrate on just spending time together, getting used to being a couple. Seeing if it all works."

"If you told me a month ago that I'd be planning a romantic holiday with you to Canada, I would have thought you were mental." John leaned in for another kiss. "Now I just think you're brilliant."

Sherlock chuckled. "You always think I'm brilliant."

"Brilliant, gorgeous and sexy as fuck." John pushed Sherlock back down in the sofa, crawling over him to kiss him senseless.

XXX

-Disclaimer: I own nothing.

-A/N: Yeah, I want to explore the friends to lovers story a little more. Thanks for giving this a try. More to come soon. :D


	2. Chapter 2

"Would you like any dessert or coffee to end your meal?" The older server efficiently gathered up their plates and cutlery, pausing to hear their reply.

John looked up, interested, but before he could say anything, Sherlock waved the server away. _"Non, merci._ Just the bill."

Seeing John's irked expression, Sherlock chuckled, reaching over to cover John's hand with his own. "I have another place in mind for our dessert." He pulled out his phone, glancing quickly at the time.

"Oh really?" It was quite intriguing, seeing Sherlock in date mode. When booking the trip, they had agreed to make plans for alternating days.

This was their first whole day here, in Quebec City. It had been dark when they arrived the night before, so they didn't get to see much then.

The five hour time zone difference had them waking up early, and they met in the main floor breakfast room. Sherlock already was at a table reading the paper, drinking coffee and eating a croissant spread with jam. John fetched some fruit and toast from the buffet, and they ate like they usually did at home. Deep in their newspapers, making occasional comments to each other. The only major difference being Sherlock reading a newspaper in French with apparent ease.

Their hotel was in the Old City, with the majestic Chateau Frontenac perched high above the cobbled streets. They wandered, enjoying the crisp fall air, and the freedom to drift around in their explorations. For lunch, they bought local food at the Old Port Market, and sat down by the waterfront, watching the boats as they ate.

Sherlock directed them away from the funicular with a scoff, and they took the steep 'Breakneck' stairs up the 200 feet to the upper part of the Old City. He explained the historic battles between England and France over the area as they wandered along the well preserved fortress. John was impressed with his research. Felt flattered by it, and hoped the outings he had planned were as enjoyable.

After paying the bill, Sherlock took John's hand as they left the restaurant. It still felt exciting when he did that. It still felt new. "I've noticed that you like chocolate." Sherlock snuck a glance at John, his lips in a small smirk.

John chuckled. He loved it, but now that he was in his mid-forties, he tried to limit his intake of it. "Oh no. What do you have in mind?" He looked around at the businesses nearby, but his French wasn't strong enough to make sense of their signage.

Tugging his hand, Sherlock pulled him into a business. The couple glasses of wine John had with supper had him in a relaxed mood, and he simply let Sherlock lead. He spoke rapid French to a few of the staff, and John was surprised to find himself soon sitting on a high stool, in a cooking class.

A slim man with a chef's white jacket with a black bib apron started the class, getting the other couples to settle down on their stools. He was friendly, and seemed professional as he held up various ingredients and pieces of equipment. There was one problem though.

John leaned in close to whisper in Sherlock's ear. "Um, I can't understand this. My French isn't good enough, Sherlock."

The tall berk gave him 'The Look', as John had dubbed it. The look that said he couldn't conceive that other people didn't possess his easy knowledge and comprehension of certain things. That they weren't fluent in a dozen languages.

It made John feel bad. Maybe he should have reminded Sherlock of his limited French when they were booking the holiday, but he assumed they would be sticking to doing touristy things where English would be common enough. He didn't want to screw up their night, after such a good day together, the first day of their trip.

Sherlock leaned in close to John. "Then I will translate for you." His voice was a low whisper, and it sent a shiver of awareness through John. He'd always had a weakness for Sherlock's voice.

For the rest of the class, Sherlock leaned in, whispering his translations to John. The class was hands on, and John found he managed quite well, working with Sherlock. He had better cooking skills, and they both watched the instructor closely.

The class was making four different chocolate desserts, all rich and decadent. John couldn't resist licking his finger when some dark chocolate got on it when he was dipping an éclair. Sherlock caught him doing it, his eyes riveted on John's mouth. Feeling daring, John dipped his finger into the chocolate to get some more, but before he could stick it back in his mouth, Sherlock grabbed his hand.

John's heart pounded as Sherlock drew his hand to his mouth, holding John's gaze as his tongue flicked out and ran up the side of John's finger. He let out a little gasp when Sherlock took his fingertip into his mouth, sucking and circling his tongue over it in a way that was blatantly sexual.

 _"Revenir à la cuisine, étudiants."_ Get back to cooking, students. A sharp order near them broke the spell, and they jumped apart, fumbling with their tasks. The instructor continued on, checking on the next couple's progress.

John gave Sherlock a sheepish look, and Sherlock made a silly face of defiance at the instructor's back. It was completely like they had been caught passing notes in middle school, and it made John chuckle. He tried to suppress it, but the gleam of amusement in Sherlock's green eyes set him off. He had to excuse himself and leave the classroom before he burst out laughing.

In the corridor, he found the men's room, and went inside. After using the facilities and washing his hands, he had settled back down. Back in the corridor, he saw Sherlock waiting for him.

"Did they kick you out of the class for misbehaving?" John teased.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock stepped closer, looking down at John with real affection. "No, I just wanted to make sure you were OK. Is this class alright for you? If you are bored, we can leave."

"No way!" John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and leaned in for a kiss. "Our brownies and chocolate lava cake are still baking, and I want to see how they turn out. Plus, didn't the instructor say we get to eat everything we make?"

Sherlock seemed relieved, and put his hands on John's shoulders as they went back into the classroom. The instructor gave them a friendly smile, obviously not really bothered by their behaviour in this informal class.

They finished the rest of the cooking, Sherlock translating as they went. Working closely, they were often nudging against each other, and that, combined with Sherlock's whispers, had John very aware of him.

Moving to a large dining room, they sat around the table with the other students, admiring each other's work.

"Your lava cake turned out so well." A twenty-something blonde said beside John. Her cake wasn't oozing out thick chocolate from the centre.

John gave her a friendly look back. "But your éclairs look more flakey. I'm not good at pastry."

He turned back to his own plate, scooping up another forkful of the dark chocolate cake. It had turned out the best, and looked quite impressive. He closed his eyes, enjoying the contrast of the warm, crisp outer layer of the cake and the liquid chocolate centre.

"Should we take these desserts back to the hotel so you can savour them in private?" Sherlock chuckled. "You seem to be enjoying them a little too much."

John gave him a flirty look back as he sucked his fork clean. "Hmmm...is there such a thing as enjoying something too much?"

It was fun, having all this time together. Time to relax and enjoy their banter, their closeness. John was already glad they had decided to take this vacation.

Sherlock seemed to be liking it as well, focussing his attention on John in a very flattering way. He just hoped it would last. Sherlock was prone to moaning 'I'm bored!' like a spoiled ten year old when he didn't get enough mental stimulation.

The taller man gave a naughty smile back. "You know, I'm not sure about that. But I'm willing to do extensive testing if you will assist me."

Flirty Sherlock was very sexy, and hard to resist. And hearing him speaking French all day to the locals had been hot as well. "Um...perhaps we could box these up to take back to the hotel. We could begin testing right away."

It would have been amusing how fast Sherlock jumped out of the chair and was talking to the instructor, gesturing with his hands, if John didn't feel the same urge to be alone with Sherlock. The whole day had been casual touches, and quick, stolen kisses. Quebec City was supposedly not as tolerant of flagrant PDA between men as Montreal or other bigger Canadian cities were.

It was a mild night, and they completed the twenty minute walk back to their hotel in practically half that time. Breathless, they entered Sherlock's room, dropped the boxed desserts on the table, and were kissing as soon as the door was shut.

Every time they kissed like this, it was getting better and better. Sherlock had been out of practice, and John had needed to get over the differences of kissing a man compared to a woman. Before, he was pulled out of the moment when he felt Sherlock's whiskers rubbing over his skin. Now, it just felt right, felt normal. Felt sexy.

Sherlock had picked up the variations of kisses John responded to the most, and he mixed them up. Deep, heavy kisses that had John panting, followed by light, soft ones that had him pressing closer for more.

John steered them over to the bed, settling onto his back with Sherlock over him. This was much better than trying to make out on the sofa, like they had been at home. His hands drifted down from Sherlock's back to his ass, pulling him in closer.

Sherlock groaned against his neck, giving a little shudder at feeling John's hands there. They had stuck to just making out, keeping their clothes on, so far. This was the first time John had touched him below the waist. "John...," he sighed, with a regretful warning tone to it.

Huffing a little, John dropped his hands from Sherlock and shifted up higher on the bed, so his head was on a pillow. "I don't know why you are keeping things to such a slow pace between us. Getting separate rooms? We are on this vacation as a couple."

Sherlock rolled onto his side, propping up on one elbow to look down at John. He loved seeing John like this; rumpled, horny, and irritated that they weren't going further. "John, you are still trying to figure out your feelings about me, and I don't want to muddy the waters by having sex too soon. It could become a 'Friends With Benefits' situation if we did that, and that wouldn't be good for us, long-term."

"I never should have let you buy that Cosmo at the airport." John gave a rueful smile as he looked at his friend. His boyfriend. His partner? What the hell were they now?

"But it had an article about us!" Sherlock laughed back. He looked over at his bedside table. '9 Friends-Turned-Lovers Stories From Real Couples' was in big print on the pink cover of the magazine. He had read the whole thing, cover to cover, during the flight, much to John's dismay.

John put a hand up to stroke over Sherlock's cheek, loving his happy smile. "Well, not about us, but people in similar situations. What advice did you glean from it?"

Leaning in closer, Sherlock kissed along John's neck. "I've been in the friend-zone for you for years. You need time to think of me as a romantic partner. See me in a new way. Being here is good, where things are so much different."

John had to agree with that. Seeing Sherlock speaking French and cooking weren't things he'd seen before. Both had gotten John's attention. That, combined with more frequent touching and sexy whispers, had made John very aware of Sherlock as a man. Aware of how much he wanted to explore the sexual side with him. See if it was still as sexy and arousing when more clothes came off.

Reaching down to Sherlock's top button, John daringly undid it, and felt a tingle of excitement at seeing more of Sherlock's skin. What would it be like to undo all the buttons, have his chest bare, running his hands over it? Kissing over that hot skin, and feeling Sherlock shifting in arousal under him.

He was about to lean in, to kiss that bared patch of new skin, when Sherlock pushed on his shoulder with a chuckle. "Stop it, John." He did the button back up, much to John's disappointment. "I like that you are getting more comfortable with our chemistry. But I want to hold back on sex for a little longer."

"Why?" John knew he sounded a little whiney, but they were adult men, not virgins. Why couldn't they have sex? Lots and lots of sex?

Sherlock sat up, shifting the pillows to lean back against the headboard. He took John's hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of it. "A bunch of reasons. Like you needing time to adjust to the idea of being with a man. I don't want you freezing up in the middle of things. Like me needing time to adjust to sex with someone I care about. It's been years since I've had sex, and it was always mindless. But with you, even with the little we've done..," Sherlock paused, searching for the word. "It's so personal. Intimate. It's never been like that. Never been with someone I knew so well."

John sat up too, leaning back with a pillow. "Oh." He squeezed Sherlock's hand, silently thanking him for being so open about everything. "I see what you are saying. I think a lot of people start out like that as teenagers, but when they are in a deeper relationship, the sex is more about intimacy than just having an orgasm. For me, I love to focus on my partner, doing things to please them, getting aroused more when I see or hear their responses to what I'm doing. I love seeing them opening up to me like that, letting me see them in such a private, vulnerable state. Sharing the same with them."

Sherlock nodded, looking like he was mulling over John's words carefully. "I want that with you, John. So much. I've had feelings for you for so long." His voice was soft, and his grip tensed on John's hand. "It will be scary to share that with you, but I want it. I only trust you to do it with. You know me, care for me."

John was blinking back tears as he gathered Sherlock close, hugging him tightly. Suddenly, he understood he had to wait for sex with Sherlock until he knew if he had deeper feelings for him. It wouldn't be right to be together that way unless they were equally vulnerable. "I understand. We won't rush it, for both our sakes." They had to honor their friendship, their history, and do this right.

"Plus, I like the idea of you being a little horny and desperate for me. Wanting me." Sherlock pulled back to grin down at John, lightening things up. "I've been hot for you for years. It's only fair if you have to wait a few weeks for me."

John grinned back. "Tease."

Crawling out of bed in a deliberately slinky way, Sherlock put a hand on the wall, jutted out a hip and gave John a smoldering look. "Who me?" He spun away and swung his hips as he walked to the door to open it.

Groaning, John couldn't look away. Suddenly, all his eyes kept falling on were those messy curls, kiss-swollen lips, and the long lines of Sherlock's slim body. He made his way to the door, his pants uncomfortably tight. "You are hard to get, but you'll be worth it in the end."

Sherlock seemed to be looking at John with just as much banked desire. "I feel the same way about you." He kissed him hard, pressing their bodies close, before letting go and pushing him out the door.

Feeling a little dazed, John gave his head a shake and turned to go to his room, right across the hall.

 _This was going to be the best vacation ever._

 _XXX_

-Disclaimer: I own nothing.

-A/N: Sorry about my posting problems earlier & thanks for reading this chapter, giving the story another try.

-Quebec City: The capital city of the province of Quebec is Quebec City. It's about 2.5 hr drive from Montreal, and one of North America's oldest cities, founded in 1608. The walled Old City is an UNESCO World Heritage Site, and retains an old European influence from its French history. The population is around 800,000 for the metropolitan area, but they get around 5 million guests a year during the summer months and for the famous Winter Carnival celebrated in February since 1894.

-Cooking Class: This is based on a real school that offers 2-3 hour classes on cooking, cocktails or wine tastings that sound fun and delicious. They are in Montreal and Quebec City, and only in French. The chocolate dessert class has a chocolate four ways: Creamy, crispy, crunchy and soft. Chocolate molten cake, White chocolate heart with vanilla crème anglaise, Pecan and pistachio brownies with a 'chocolate mirror', and Dark chocolate éclairs with milk chocolate cereals.


	3. Chapter 3 Part 1

John clutched his hands over his stomach, groaning slightly, and trying his hardest not to laugh. It hurt to laugh.

Sherlock came out of the bathroom wearing a different set of clothes, and it set John off again.

"Would you shut up? It's too early to be making such a racket." His green eyes were narrowed with irritation as they flicked over at John, and then back to the mirror. "This isn't any better than what I tried on before. Come on, help me. We have to leave soon."

Moaning softly, John got up from the plush armchair and walked to stand beside Sherlock, looking in the mirror. It was really, really hard to keep a straight face.

"Um...what if we roll up the bottom a little, make them look like capri trousers on you." He bent down, adjusting the hems, and stood up. The quick motions had not been a good idea, and he braced a hand against Sherlock, taking some deep breaths.

Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently. "You sound like you are going into labor. Don't you have any medicine in your suitcase?" He nodded as he examined the tan trousers, seeming to approve of the folded bottoms. He tugged at the edge of the blue tee, like he could make it longer, looking at the mirror in distaste.

John shook his head. "No medicine." He had an idea though. Reaching into the reject clothing pile, he passed a grey hoodie back to Sherlock. "Here, tie this around your waist."

Sherlock seemed to understand what he meant, his eyes brightening. Soon, he was looking back at the mirror in approval. "Well, I think that's the best we can do, all things considered. I'll have to wear these shoes though. No way I can fit into any of yours."

Glancing down at Sherlock's dark brown wing tips, John was chuckling again, and had to turn away for a moment.

"I won't go if you keep that up." Sherlock threatened.

"OK, OK. I'll be good now." Taking some calming breaths, John rested his hand on his stomach, willing it to settle. "I just can't believe you didn't pack any outdoor clothes for this trip. This is Canada, a country known for its wilderness."

"I just can't believe you ate half a box of chocolate desserts for breakfast." Sherlock shot back, his tone dry.

John shook his head for the tenth time at his friend. He had come to Sherlock's room, bright and early, only to find Sherlock dressed in a black bespoke suit. He looked amazing, but hardly suitable for spending the day out on the water on a zodiac.

It turned out the berk hadn't brought anything but suits. John had gone to grab his own suitcase for Sherlock to try on some of his clothes. While waiting, he had seen the box from the cooking class on the table. The chocolate treats still looked delicious and rich. Within five minutes, he had gobbled up three of them, and had been regretting it ever since.

It was worse when Sherlock had come out of the bathroom, swearing up a storm. He had on a pair of chinos that were six inches too short, and a shirt that showed a few inches of his belly. It looked like he had an overnight growth spurt. Sherlock took great pride in wearing perfectly tailored clothes, so it was doubly funny to see him dressed so badly with his disgruntled expression.

Other items fit about the same. Folding up the bottom of the trousers made them look more intentionally short. The hoodie around his waist covered the gap between the bottom of the shirt and the top of the trousers. There was nothing they could do about the overly fancy shoes that clashed with the casual outfit.

John moaned, pulling on his jacket. "They were chocolate, just sitting there, and so good..."

It was quite the start to their second day, and they hadn't even left the hotel yet.

XXX

The zodiac was travelling fast, and John carefully raised his water bottle to his mouth to take a big sip.

Sherlock shot him a concerned look, and John gave a silent nod that he was OK. Another tourist on their bus had offered John some antacids, and by the time they reached Baie Sainte-Catherine a couple hours later, he felt more himself. He had been sipping water since then, feeling his stomach settle despite being on the fast bumpy zodiac.

John surveyed their surroundings, savoring the fresh air, the calm water, the hills and mountains. Glancing back at Sherlock, he was in profile, looking out over the water, seeming peaceful. His wardrobe issues were hidden by the red jacket and black pants they were all issued before getting on the zodiac. The flotation jackets were wind and waterproof.

Feeling a surge of affection, John snuggled against his side and took his hand. At Sherlock's questioning look, he simply gave a small, happy smile. "I'm glad we are doing this together. Even if we don't see much, it's nice to be out in nature this way."

Sherlock wrapped a long arm over John's shoulders and they shifted to sit comfortably together. It was still new, learning how to best cuddle together. It felt different to be with a bigger person, when he was used to dating women his height or shorter, and usually a stone or two lighter. Sherlock was five inches taller, but he was slimmer in his build. John was sturdier, although not chubby. They were probably about the same weight. It was an adjustment, but one that was exciting and new. One that reminded him that he was with Sherlock.

This late in the season, the zodiac was mostly empty. There was only an older, Asian couple who seemed to only have limited English, and an American couple around thirty years old. The naturalist gave her occasional comments in English, much to John's relief after the cooking class language barrier.

The zodiac eventually stopped, and it seemed unnaturally quiet after having the loud motor on for so long. Everyone sat up, looking more alert, aware of the small waves breaking against the side of the boat.

"So, let's do a few questions to get your minds warmed up." The naturalist captain Marsha said, her smile easy. "Are whales carnivores, herbivores or omnivores?"

The American man waved his hand. "Don't they eat krill?" He had dark framed glasses, auburn hair and a closely trimmed beard.

"That's right. They are carnivores, eating krill, shrimp, and fish mostly." Marsha nodded, brushing some long black strands of hair back behind an ear that had escaped her ponytail. "How do they catch them? Krill are usually only a couple centimeters long."

John thought about images he had seen of orcas, and thought they had prominent teeth.

Marsha sensed the group wasn't sure enough to answer, so she continued. "They are either baleen or toothed whales. Baleen whales are gulpers. They spot a school of fish, open their mouth wide, and speed up take in all the fish and water in their mouths. Instead of teeth, they have thick bristles and they use them to filter their food, pushing the water out of their mouths with their tongues."

"So, they are sort of like pelicans." The American woman chuckled, some of her blond hair peaking out from under her hood.

Marsha nodded. "Sort of. You will also see throat pleats that run from their lower jaw to their naval, that expand when the whale is gulping each mouthful."

"Does that method of eating work well?" John asked with a smile.

Passing out some laminated cards, Marsha nodded. "Very well. It's the method most of the largest whales use, including blue and humpback. Blue whales are the largest animals in the whole world and eat about 4 tons a day."

Sneaking a glance at Sherlock, John was thinking he would be bored, but he seemed to be following along with the nature lesson, skimming over his card.

"This region has twelve species of whales each summer, including blue, humpback, and orca. Beluga whales live here year round." Marsha went on to describe the types of whales they were watching for today, reviewing the information on the cards with them.

After the introduction, everyone settled into their seats and was looking around at the calm surface of the estuary, watching for the spray of water from a whale's blowhole or for the curve of a back or a tail breaking above the water. Marsha made occasional comments and answered questions, but it was mostly quiet as the group looked expectantly around the area.

An hour later, the group had had many sightings from a distance, each one exciting and getting photographed extensively. Sherlock seemed bemused by it all, but John could see his sharp eyes watching the water closely.

"Are you able to go closer? It looks like some whales keep appearing in that area," the American man asked, pointing to the west.

Marsha shook her head regretfully. "This is a protected area. We are not allowed to approach whales any closer than 100 meters. With the engines off, it is OK if the whales come closer to us."

John felt slightly disappointed, but overall it had been a good trip. They had seen many whales surfacing, and it was exciting being in the area with so many giant mammals under the same body of water. The scenery was fantastic, tall hills surrounding them and a fjord to the north where another river joined the Saint Lawrence. The weather was mild, and they were comfortable in the gear the company provided.

Sherlock lifted his head in interest when the Asian couple talked quietly together, and ended up moving to sit on their side of the zodiac.

John watched, bemused, as Sherlock spoke to them in their language, their eyes opening wider in surprise. Soon, they were chatting animatedly, waving towards the water, seeming to make the motions for a large fish. Sherlock seemed to satisfy their questions, as they nodded, looking grateful. John snuck a picture of them with his phone.

"Our Korean friends are wondering why so many whales come here each year." Sherlock turned to ask Marsha.

She gave him an impressed look. "The two rivers meet here, and cold salt water from the Atlantic also mixes with it. This churns up a lot of organic particles in the water, so krill and fish are plentiful eating it all up. The whales are here usually from May until October. It's like a Las Vegas buffet for them."

Sherlock nodded, turning back to translate to the older couple.

John watched him with pride, impressed by his language knowledge, as always, but also by the way he had jumped in to help the couple. Helped them have a better experience.

"Where does the Saint Lawrence river come from?" John asked.

Marsha was open to the questions. "From the Great Lakes, over 1000 km to the west. Have you ever been to Toronto or Chicago?"

John shook his head. It was his first time on this side of the pond.

"The 5 Great Lakes have a combined area that is about the same as the United Kingdom. The water flows eastward from those lakes, over Niagara Falls, and eventually reaches the Atlantic." Marsha explained.

She would have gone further, but Sherlock and the Korean couple were pointing over the edge of the zodiac, talking excitedly. Sherlock caught John's eye, and motioned him over.

John moved to that side of the boat, thankful that it was large enough to feel very stable. Sherlock drew him close with an arm around his waist, his green eyes excited.

Following his sight line, John gasped when he saw the motion about five feet from the boat. It was a large dark shape, with some white markings.

"That's a fin whale. They are the second biggest type of whale." Marsha sounded excited as well. "We see them more often than blue whales."

The river water had fairly good visibility, and it was calm enough to see the whale slipping through the water effortlessly. He didn't think his camera phone would capture it very well, so didn't worry about that. He just leaned into Sherlock, breathless, watching.

They shared a quick glance, sharing the moment, before both looking down into the water again. The truly immense size of the animal was obvious by how long it took to move past them.

"Fin whale can be up to 85 feet long. That's like three of your double-decker buses, all in a row." Marsha said softly near them. She had a pleased smile, knowing that close viewings like this were rare.

XXX

 **So, How is my beautiful, perfect daughter doing? -J**

He didn't wait long for a reply. It was probably around 10 pm in London, and Harry was a night owl.

 **Still perfect, but wasn't so beautiful today. -H**

A picture was sent to explain. Rosie had tomato sauce and noodles all over her face and hands, smiling widely. John chuckled.

 **She seems to like Italian food. -J**

They chatted on by text, and John felt comfortable his daughter was in good hands with Harry and Clara this week. She was still going to her daycare during the day, so they just had her evenings and weekends. Molly and Mrs. Hudson were also helping out.

 **How are things going with Sherlock? Has he converted you fully to our team? - H**

John swore softly at that.

 **What are you talking about? We are here to meet with a forensic anthropologist about a cold case. She splits her time between Quebec and North Carolina. -J**

 **Yeah, and I'm sure everyone believed your cover story. But you can't bullshit your big sister. –H**

John sighed.

 **OK, OK…was it really so obvious? -J**

 **Look, I was in denial about it myself for years. Remember how many boyfriends I had as a teenager? –H**

The words made John reel back a little. Had all his dating, all these years, been futile acts? Acts of self-delusion? Had he only imagined being attracted to those women, the feelings of affection?

He shook his head. No. No. It hadn't been deep love, but there were romantic feelings. Good sex. Great sex. He enjoyed women, enjoyed their bodies, their personalities.

 **We aren't sure what is really happening yet, and just need some time away to figure it out. –J**

 **Well,, I'm here if you need to talk about it. –H**

He soon completed his catch up with his sister, thanking her for her advice and all the help with Rosie.

XXX

-THIS IS THE 1st HALF OF CHAPTER 3. I had to split it for length/posting reasons.

-Whale Watching: 200 km NE from Quebec City is Baie Sainte Catherine. A company there offers 2.5 hour whale watching tours on zodiac or larger cruise boats. The zodiacs have a rigid floor and solid hull, a powerful motor, and are buoyant from inflated air chambers. They allow the passengers a closer view of the water, but they are more exposed to the elements.

-Krill: These small crustaceans are usually 1-2 cm large, and eat plankton. They are a huge part of the diet of whales, penguins, seals, squid and fish. Most types are bioluminescent, or capable of emitting light from their bodies.

-Blue Whales: They are amazingly huge. They get up to 100 feet/ 30 m long, or the length of a Boeing 737 plane. In 2014, 9 blue whales were trapped in the ice off the Newfoundland coast, and two of the bodies later washed up on shore (very rare, as they usually sink to the ocean bottom). It was a great way to study the animals, and now one of the hearts is on display at the Royal Ontario Museum in Toronto. It is preserved by plastination, and weighs over 400 pounds.

-Forensic Anthropologist: Quick reference to Kathy Reichs, who works in Charlotte, North Carolina and Montreal, Quebec. She is one of only 82 certified Forensic Anthropologists in the US. She has also written 19 novels, and the TV show, Bones (2005-2017), is inspired by her books. She was a producer, to keep the science 'honest'.


	4. Chapter 3 Part 2

**THIS IS THE SECOND PART OF CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

"Have the last slice, John." Sherlock nudged his shoulder, and John took the suggestion.

It was a mild fall night, and they were sitting in a restaurant patio, drinking a couple microbrews and sharing pizza. It was an unusual combination, but delicious. The menu was only in French, and John had been able to make out that it had artichoke hearts, hearts of palm, goat cheese and other tasty toppings on a balsamic vinegar and olive oil brushed crust.

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, John took a long sip of his beer. "So, what do you have planned for us tomorrow? Are we going to out on a strenuous hike to test out all your new gear?"

When they had gotten back to the city in the late afternoon, Sherlock had changed back into a suit and hopped into a taxi to head out to an outdoor supplies store. He was on a mission to get outfitted from hiking boots to a Tilley canvas hat, for any other adventures John had planned. John had stayed at the hotel, catching up with Harry and having a nap, a little quiet time to think.

Sherlock shook his head. "I think it says something about how distracted I've been around you lately that it didn't even occur to me to research things we could do outside the city. I have no idea what natural wonders are nearby."

Chuckling, John leaned into Sherlock. Ever since doing the test, they had been frequently stealing kisses from each other around the flat. After booking the trip, the flirting and quick touches were even more frequent. John had loved seeing Sherlock looking all unfocused and happy.

"Excuse me." A man at the table next to theirs' turned around to face them. "I hope you don't think me rude, but I overheard you talking about good hikes near here." He was in his late-fifties, with salt and pepper wavy hair and intelligent dark eyes.

John could see Sherlock was a little irritated at the interruption from the stranger, so he spoke up before Sherlock snapped something rude back. "Ah, yes, we are just visiting for the first time, and really want to experience the best of the wilderness areas."

"That's why I'm here as well." The man held out his hand to John. "Dave Wright."

With a small sigh, John shook his hand and introduced them to the friendly man. He was sitting alone, and somehow had not noticed that Sherlock and John were on a date. Sherlock ignored the man pointedly, looking over at the sidewalk to watch people walking by, leaving John to carry the conversation along.

It turned out the man was a recently divorced geologist from Texas, who knew even less French than John did. They chuckled over trying to read signs and menus, and how many times Google Translate saved them.

"So, what brings a Texan up to Quebec, of all places?" John asked.

Dave chuckled, shaking his head. "I've wanted to visit for ages, but the wife always wanted to go to all inclusive beach resorts. One of the few advantages of being single now is getting to do whatever I want. So, I'm heading out for some spelunking at Boischatel tomorrow, and then searching for shatter cones in Charlevoix the day after."

"Shatter cones?" Sherlock's head whipped around, his green eyes focusing on the middle-aged geologist intently.

The man sensed a kindred spirit, his eyes brightening. "Yes, And suevite beds."

They might as well be speaking French for the amount John understood in the next fifteen minutes. He was able to get the gist of the intense conversation, something about an ancient meteorite impact crater nearby. He simply sat back, sipping his beer and ordering another round when the server came by.

He even ordered _pouding chômeur_ , a dessert the server recommended that was a warm maple-y pancake-y pudding-y dessert, served with vanilla ice cream. It was decadent, but he had been walking a lot lately. And he was on vacation. And it was too hard to resist.

"Well, Dave," John finally jumped in to a gap in the conversation. "It's been great chatting with you tonight. We better get going though…it has been a long day." He grabbed Sherlock's hand, pulling him along as he got up.

Dave waved away Sherlock's money for their meal. "I don't know if you have time in your itinerary, but you are welcome to join me."

Part of John immediately wanted to jump in and say 'NO!' This was their vacation, time to spend time together, just the two of them, and they didn't need an older American man butting in. But obviously Sherlock was interested in similar things, and he was being so patient with doing what John had wanted to do, like the whale watching today.

"Yes, yes… that would be great. You are going caving tomorrow? Sherlock, what do you think?" John looked up at the man beside him.

Sherlock shook his head. "Not tomorrow. We have plans."

John nudged him, feeling a bit uncomfortable. That was a little rude. "Um, maybe you could move them to the day after?" It was Sherlock's turn to plan the day, and John had no idea what they would be doing.

"No. Tomorrow is planned." He was very firm on this, his expression giving nothing away.

Feeling a bit stuck, John shrugged at Dave. "Look, Thursday is better, I think. Let me get your phone number and we'll text you for the details later."

A few minutes later, they were saying goodbye to their new acquaintance, and held hands as they walked back to the hotel.

XXX

 _Fossa jugularis sternalis…_ John lazily categorized as he pressed his lips against the depression at the base of Sherlock's neck.

His lips moved upwards. _Prominentia laryngea._ Being a man, his Adam's Apple was more prominent than in a woman. He kissed around it slowly.

 _Lobulus auriculae._ His explorations had brought him up to Sherlock's earlobe, nibbling lightly along the edge, and smiling to himself when he heard a groan.

"Are you doing OK?" John whispered breathily into Sherlock's ear.

Large hands moved down John's back, rubbing firmly, pressing him closer. "How can this feel so good?" Sherlock's rich voice was slightly scratchy, and hearing him that way sent a pang of arousal right through John.

Shifting closer, John kissed him hard, rotating his hips a little to press against Sherlock's thigh. Sherlock gasped, arching up in response. Grinding together, John nuzzled into his shoulder, inhaling Sherlock's scent. A blend of light cologne and his pricey body wash.

John undid the top three buttons of Sherlock's shirt, happy that he didn't object this time. He flopped back against the bed, simply letting John spread the material open. Letting him kiss his way down his pale skin. Didn't object when the rest of the buttons were undone and his shirt spread completely open. A feast for John's eyes and hands.

It was further than they had ever gone before, and John was mostly lost in it. But part of his mind was aware of the differences of being with Sherlock instead of a woman. The feel of whiskers against his lips as he kissed down his neck. The woodsy scent in the cologne instead of a floral scent. Running his hands over the angles of his lean, lightly muscled chest instead of soft curves.

It was different than what he was used to, but those differences made it more exciting. More unique. More Sherlock. And he felt more and more aroused by it, the physical sensations mixing with his feelings for this incredible man.

Daringly, he let his hands dip to the waistband of Sherlock's trousers, fumbling to undo them. Sherlock's stomach tightened, and then his hands covered John's, pulling them away.

"How about we keep our trousers on tonight, John?" Sherlock said softly.

John whined, not wanting to slow down, just craving more. He leaned down, kissing the center of Sherlock's chest, and moving downwards. He smiled against his skin, hearing Sherlock's quiet moans.

Planting a kiss near Sherlock's belly button, John looked up at him with a devilish glint in his eyes. Turning his face a little, he closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek along the hard, obvious bulge in his trousers.

"John!" Sherlock gasped, his hips surging up in an involuntary response. His hands were on John's shoulders, tugging on them.

But John resisted, repeating the motion even slower, rubbing his face against Sherlock like a cat bunting, marking something with his own scent, marking it as his.

Sherlock was very hard, and from what John could make out, of considerable size. He looked up at Sherlock with a playful smirk. "Hmmmm...remember when I said in that test that I wanted a big dick? It feels like I'll be getting one soon."

"Fuck." Sherlock's swear was accompanied with clamping his hands hard on John's shoulders, and rolling them both over. His green eyes burned down into John's, his dark curls messily surrounding his face. He dipped down, taking John in a hard, deep kiss.

It was the hottest one yet, and John groaned as he sunk into it, wrapping his arms around Sherlock tightly. Seconds later, he shifted his legs, spreading them so Sherlock could shift between them. _More, more..._

He rocked into him. "Yes, yes...so good...," Sherlock was kissing down his neck, just as needy and desperate. "Sherlock..."

His shirt was soon unbuttoned and John dug his hands into Sherlock's hair as he kissed downwards. He was so thankful they were thousands of kilometers away from London, with no annoying texts coming in to interrupt them, pulling Sherlock away to a crime scene.

Sherlock was looking down at him in wonder. "I never thought I'd see you like this, half-naked in my arms, hair messy and looking well-kissed. Debauched."

John gave him a hot look back. "You look even better. Come here." He pulled Sherlock back down, savoring the feel of their warm, bare skin pressed together.

It was a long, long time later when Sherlock stumbled back to his room, pushing away John's greedy hands with a chuckle after their extended goodnight kisses.

John was naked as soon as he was alone, reaching for the lube in his nightstand as he got into the bed. He had been so hard for hours, he knew he wouldn't last long as he leaned back against the pillows. _Was Sherlock doing the exact same thing in his own bed, only a few steps away? Rubbing a slick hand fast over himself, closing his eyes and reliving every hot moment of the night?_

The images of that and his experienced touch had him shuddering in release in barely a minute or two. John cleaned up with tissues, chuckling, and leaned back to catch his breath. He hadn't been this hot for anyone for ages. When they finally had sex together, would this wonderful chemistry still be there?

Sherlock was so passionate, so open and vulnerable to John. His green eyes hid nothing, and knowing how affected he was by it all was incredibly intimate. So trusting. It was an amazing gift, bravely baring his heart to John, and now, little by little, his body. And John was finding, pleasantly shocked, that he wanted it. Wanted it all. Wanted everything. Wanted Sherlock to have every part of him as well.

The thoughts left a pleased smile on John's face, as he got ready for bed and got under the covers. What did Sherlock have planned for tomorrow? Plans he was so unwilling to change, not even for an interesting foray with an expert?

Even though they had spent so much time together lately, John felt eager to see Sherlock again in the morning. _You've got it bad..._ The thought sent a thrill through him as he fell asleep.

XXX

-A/N: Heating things up a little...

-Pizza: They eat at 'Mille et Une Pizzas' (1001 Pizzas) in Old Quebec. 'Deux Coeurs' pizza (Two Hearts) looks good. It has artichoke hearts, hearts of palm, goat cheese, black olives, sundried tomatoes, spinach with balsamic vinegar & olive oil on the crust.

-Boischatel Cave: About 30 min NE of Quebec City, there is Quebec's longest cave, about 3000 m long.

-Charlevoix Crater: 350 million years ago a meteorite hit the area, leaving a crater about 54 km in diameter. Part of the crater is under the St. Lawrence River, and the parts on land have eroded over the years. The crater is smooth and flat, making it perfect for the many people living there. It is surrounded by the craggy Laurentian Mountains. Shatter cones and suevite beds are geologic formations from the impact that are still visible in the area. Mont des Eboulements is in the exact centre, the central uplift of elastic rebound of the Earth's crust from the impact.


	5. Chapter 4 Part 1

John could only smile to himself as he watched Sherlock shake out a big blanket, and spread it out over the thick grass. It was in a perfect spot; well away from other people in the park, and with dappled shade from a nearby tree.

With a small grin, Sherlock waved John onto the blanket, and sat near him, cross-legged. He leaned in, kissing John lightly, looking happy and excited.

It was Sherlock's day again to plan what they would do, and he had them wandering through the Old City, and then around an art museum. John had been very interested in the art from the arctic people, The Inuit, admiring the many soapstone sculptures of polar bears, seals and hunters in traditional parkas. They strolled along a street with many outdoor cafes and boutiques, and Sherlock had John sit on a park bench while he ducked into a bistro. He came out with a picnic basket and led John over to the huge park nearby.

"Do you trust me?" Sherlock grinned down at John.

One side of John's mouth curled up, a hundred joking answers coming to him. "Hmmm...I trust you to be rude to about half the people we come across. Trust you to fill our fridge with scary body parts. Trust you to make me laugh at the most inappropriate times." Like when they had gone to a funeral for a case, sitting in the back row to see if a suspect attended the service. Sherlock had been a little bored and kept whispering snarky comments into John's ear, until he had to turn and hiss at the berk to shut up.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, giving an impatient huff. He pulled out a long strip of black fabric from his pocket, showing it to John. "I thought we could make this picnic a little more interesting...if you trust me, and let me tie this blindfold on you."

A shiver of heat went along John's skin, and he nodded at Sherlock. Showing he wanted it, he closed his eyes, sitting still while Sherlock tied the fabric in place.

Sherlock gave a small groan, tilting John's chin up to kiss him. "Mmmm...you look good." There was a scratchy timbre to his deep voice, a signal he was affected by this as well.

John heard him moving away, his imagination working to match the small sounds with what Sherlock was doing. Being blindfolded, he was more aware of the feel of the light breeze over his face, ruffling his hair. The warmth of the sun on his skin. The low buzz of awareness he had around Sherlock constantly now.

Everything seemed to be adding up. Bumping legs under the breakfast table, fingers touching when John handled Sherlock a coffee refill, holding hands as they explored the city. All these little touches, small exchanged glances...the only word for it was romance. It was more than just lust, or the thrill of trying something he never had done before. Everything was tinted by the feelings he had for Sherlock, the years of special moments between them. It was all coming together.

Something smooth pressed against his lips, and John jumped a little in surprise.

Sherlock chuckled. "Time to show if you trust me now. Open up."

John did so, and Sherlock pushed a cool sphere into his mouth. Biting down, John tasted the sweet juice. "Mmmm, a grape."

Something else was pressed against his lips, and he accepted it. It was a cube of creamy cheese. It was followed by a small piece of fresh buttered bread, grape tomatoes, a slice of cucumber. Everything tasty and fresh, the flavours perhaps even better because he was focused on each bite.

He could hear Sherlock eating as well, feeding himself as John chewed. It was lazy and sensual, enjoying the food, the park, just being together.

"Lie down." Sherlock said eventually.

John was feeling pleasantly full from the tasty lunch. He stretched out along the blanket, and felt Sherlock lying down beside him. He lifted his hands to take off the blindfold.

Sherlock stopped him. "No, not yet." He leaned close, a hand along John's jaw as he kissed him lightly, teasing when John was pushing closer for more.

Something cool was against John's lips again, and he opened up. It was a strawberry, dipped in whip cream. John groaned, licking his lips to clean up some smeared there.

He heard Sherlock give a little quick inhale, and wasn't surprised to feel his finger smoothing more whip cream on his mouth. Before he could react, Sherlock was there, licking it up.

"Mmmm Sherlock." John was feeling completely aroused now. "Give me some more."

He wasn't sure if he meant whip cream or kisses. Sherlock put a dollop of cream on his tongue, and John grabbed his hand, taking his finger into his mouth to lick clean. It reminded John of the chocolate in the cooking class, and Sherlock sucking his finger. He returned the favour now.

Sherlock swore softly, pulling his hand away, and gathering John close. Lying side by side on the blanket, their kisses blended into each other, hot and urgent. It didn't take much to set them off.

"Sherlock...," John moaned as he kissed along his neck, shivering in sensation. "Let's go back to the hotel. Right now. I want you so much." The days and days of kissing and arousing explorations had left him ready for more. Everything. He was sure now.

"Soon, soon, John. I want you too." Sherlock said with a final kiss, before rolling away.

Suddenly, it seemed oddly quiet. John reached out to where Sherlock had just been, and found the blanket empty.

Sitting up, John pushed the blindfold off. Sherlock was nowhere in sight.

Shaking his head, John just wrapped his arms over his bent knees. Looking down, there was a small blue box in the middle of the blanket. Curious, he picked it up, reading the tag attached to it.

 **John, here is the first piece of your dessert. Follow the map inside to get the next piece. -S**

With a chuckle, John opened the box and found a small handmade truffle inside. As he savoured the dark chocolate, he opened the map.

He folded up the blanket, putting it back in the picnic basket. There was a tag on the handle, telling John to leave the basket there, for the bistro to pick up.

Now knowing that Sherlock had a whole game in place, it made more sense that he wouldn't want to change his plans to go caving today.

John headed off to get the next part of his dessert, eager to see what Sherlock had in store for him.

XXX

John groaned as slick hands slid up his back, digging hard into his muscles. This was heaven, he was sure of it.

There was a little feminine giggle, and John joined in with a laugh. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound like such a perv. It's just that you have incredible hands."

Anne-Marie chuckled again. "Oh oui, I have heard this before." Her hands worked in a circular pattern on John's bad shoulder, and he could feel the tension melting away.

"Move to London. I'll get a standing appointment every week with you." John sighed, feeling so relaxed. He needed this. The last few months had been crazy, mourning Mary and adjusting to being a single parent. Moving back to Baker Street and clearing out the other flat. Dating Sherlock now. So many changes.

Sherlock must have seen it, and had designed this treasure hunt with that in mind. The first stop was a high end menswear shop. He had been whisked into a change room and passed a dark brown suit and white dress shirt. The attentive staff had soon pinned it for tailoring and passed him another blue box. The next stop was a barber shop, for a straight blade shave and haircut. This latest stop had been his favourite so far, with the spa spoiling him with soaking in a scented whirlpool bath, head to toe treatments, and now this deep tissue massage.

Anne-Marie was finished soon, and passed him another blue box.

 **You hopefully feel good and relaxed now, John. Go back to the hotel for a shower and a nap. Meet me in the lobby at 8. -S  
xxx**

XXX

-Disclaimer: I own nothing

 **This is the first part of Chapter 4, chopped in half for loading length. Please read on!**


	6. Chapter 4 Part 2

This is the second part of Chapter 4, chopped in half for loading length.

XXX

John grinned as he slipped on the suit jacket and looked in the mirror.

Wow. So that's how a suit is supposed to fit.

The suit seemed to just be a simple dark brown, paired with a crisp white shirt and a brown tie with tiny polka dots. Somehow, the suit made him look taller, slimmer and richer. He was sex on a stick. Was this why Sherlock spent so much on his clothes? His shoulders looked broad, his waist slim, and even his legs looked long. The length of his sleeves allowed the perfect amount of his white shirt cuff to show. His trousers narrowed towards his ankles, a slim cut that suited his frame perfectly.

There was a flutter of nerves as he closed his hotel room door and headed for the elevator. Obviously, Sherlock was pulling out all the stops tonight. From the sexy picnic, to the treasure hunt of the afternoon, he had tried to make everything perfect. He wanted John to know how much he cared, to show him. Wanted to spoil him. Could John live up to all of this?

Sherlock rose as John entered the lobby. He was in a new suit as well, a dark slate blue, the cut impeccable as always. He looked polished and perfect, simply gorgeous. John's breath caught at his beauty.

His light eyes scanned over John appreciatively. "Good evening, John." His tone was warm and intimate, as he leaned in to give him a kiss on each cheek.

The gesture seemed slightly European, suiting this old city. John was stunned by it, the touch of Sherlock's lips still tingling, the scent of his citrusy cologne. Sherlock shined up and behaving beautifully, for him. For him.

He managed a smile back, hoping it didn't wobble, and took Sherlock's hand. They had been doing this for most of the vacation, and he loved the connection. Loved the way Sherlock always seemed a bit stunned by it, glancing down at their joined hands.

"Good evening, Sherlock. You look incredible." John felt comfortable giving the sincere compliment, and liked seeing the flash of pleasure in Sherlock's eyes.

Drawing him forward, they went out onto the street. "Our restaurant is ridiculously close. Please don't think I picked it for any reason but it's high reviews."

Sherlock led them down the street, barely a block and a half, before opening a glass door for John to enter, chuckling.

Attentive service soon had them at their table, the dim lighting augmented by votive candles in a frosted glass holder at each table. White tablecloths and a neutral beige decor made everything look elegant. John was glad to be so well dressed. He felt like he fit in with the other patrons.

Reviewing the menu, John could see it was in French and didn't feel like trying to decipher it. He closed it, laying it down. "Would you mind ordering for me? My French is not very good."

Sherlock nodded, and when their server came back, discussed the menu with him in rapid French. The server was in his late twenties, with large dark eyes and dark hair on the longer side. He seemed to smile at Sherlock a little too much, and only flicked a dismissive glance over John.

John just internally sighed and disregarded it. Sherlock was undeniably a very handsome man, who always got admiring glances from both men and women. If he was going to be in a serious relationship with Sherlock, he needed to learn to deal with this. It wasn't like Sherlock returned any of the looks.

Reaching across the table, John took Sherlock's hand. "This is a gorgeous restaurant. Thank you for bringing me here, for everything today."

"I went to the spa as well. Before you were there." Sherlock said with a smile. He looked relaxed, happy, well rested. He rarely looked like this back home.

Taking a sip of wine, John chuckled. "I'm actually surprised you haven't pulled a Miss Marple on this trip."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. "Who?"

John wasn't surprised that Agatha Christie characters weren't part of his mind palace. "A fictional amateur detective. Whenever she went anywhere, she would come across a mystery or a murder."

Scoffing lightly, Sherlock shook his head. "Well, they caught the men behind the only really interesting case already. The maple syrup heist."

"Maple Syrup?" John wasn't familiar with anything in the news about that.

"90% of the world's maple syrup comes from Canada. The maple leaf is even on their flag." Sherlock took a sip of wine. "Almost all of the syrup is from Quebec and there is a private organization that represents the producers of the province. It's like OPEC, but for maple syrup."

John laughed at the idea. "Is there really such a global demand to make that necessary?"

Sherlock shrugged one shoulder. "They hold a strategic reserve of syrup, barrels and barrels of it, to keep prices high. A barrel of oil is worth about $45. A barrel of maple syrup goes for $1,300."

John let out a low whistle. "I had no idea. So, people stole the reserve?"

"Well, a little over 10% of it. Two millions litres, with a street value of $13 million." Sherlock smirked at John's shocked reaction to the numbers.

Their first course arrived, and their server chatted with Sherlock again, refilling their wine glasses. He was very professional, but John could see the lingering looks, and felt a bit irked by it.

Taking a bite of his starter, John had to hold in a moan. The char fillet was perfectly seasoned, delicious. "So, how did they catch the crooks? I imagine stolen syrup is hard to track back to its source."

"It took years, investigating the black market, all over eastern Canada and New England." Sherlock waved his hand in a circle. "The ringleader was sent to jail for 8 years and fined $10 million."

John finished the starter, and leaned back. "You think you could have solved it quicker, don't you?"

Sherlock gave him a warm look back. "Yes, but I think that about all cases."

"Cocky git." John gave his hand a squeeze and got up. "Just going to the loo."

When he returned five minutes later, he saw the server standing at their table, talking again with Sherlock. Had he waited for Sherlock to be alone? Been here the whole time?

John gave him a bit of a glare as he sat down, and the server retreated with their empty dishes. Reaching over, John grabbed the bottle of wine to refill his glass. The bloody server had been too busy flirting to do it.

Sherlock gave him a puzzled look. "Is something wrong?"

Flicking an irritated glance at him, John stopped himself from saying anything sharp. Sherlock hadn't done anything wrong, and he had made a huge effort to make this whole day special, for both of them. John straightened up, pushing his cloudy thoughts away, and focused back on his amazing date. "No, things are quite wonderful, actually. I'm having a romantic dinner with the infamous Sherlock Holmes."

"Well, I get the infamous Three Continents Watson to myself for a whole week. I feel pretty lucky too." He reached across the table, taking John's hand.

John gave a dismissive snort. "You are infamous for your deductions. I'm infamous for being a bit of a slut, apparently."

Sherlock ran his fingers over John's wrist lightly, making the skin tingle in reaction. "I've been the beneficiary of all that experience and I'm definitely not complaining." His smile was a bit flirty.

Shifting in his chair, John felt warm down to his toes from that smile. "No complaints at all? Nothing you want more or less of?" He had been going by instinct when they were together. Watching Sherlock's reactions to learn what he liked best.

"Fishing for compliments, Doctor?" Sherlock sipped his wine, looking at John over the rim. They were on their second bottle now, and the effects were showing a little.

The server brought over their main course, making sure they had freshly ground pepper and refilled their glasses of ice water.

"Merci, Etienne." Sherlock said softly.

When the server had left, John eyes Sherlock closely. 'You called him 'Etienne'?"

Cutting a bite of lamb, Sherlock shrugged. "Well, yes. It's his name. You are always nagging me to be polite."

John looked at him with wide eyes. "You've known Lestrade a decade and rarely get his first name right, but you are calling a server you just met by his name?"

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock was clearly confused by John's crankiness, and just trying to smooth things over.

"It's OK. Forget about it. Let's enjoy our meal." John huffed, draining the rest of his wine and pouring another glass.

Sherlock tried changing the subject, bringing up the geologist they had met yesterday. He had done some online research about the crater and enthusiastically told John about it.

John nodded along, asking occasional questions to keep the conversation going, and ate his meal.

"Attendez, Etienne." (Wait) John waved as their server picked up their plates, pulling his attention away from Sherlock. "Do you have ice wine here?"

The server seemed to stiffen slightly at John's question, and he didn't know if it was from daring to interrupt his time with Sherlock or from using English. Some Québécois took offence if French was not used.

"Oui, Monsieur," the server replied after an uncomfortable pause. "From Ontario or British Columbia. But I would recommend our local cidre de glace, or ice cider. It is from apples harvested after the frost and very delicious."

John nodded. "Great! Bring us a bottle, s'il vou plait." (please)

Sherlock was shaking his head after Etienne left. "I don't know if that's a good idea. We have almost finished two bottles of wine already."

"Oh, come on, let loose a little. We haven't been drunk together since my stag night." John cajoled.

Letting out a small huff, Sherlock couldn't hold back a bit of a grin. "I seem to remember you get a bit handsy when you drink."

"I was wobbly, and I used your knee to keep from falling over!" John joked in return.

Sherlock gave him a devilish smile. "I didn't mind at all. In fact, I wouldn't have minded if you had crawled right into my lap and ..."

His words were cut of by the server's arrival with the ice cider. Etienne went through the normal wine presentation procedure, and John tried to keep a straight face.

"There you are, Monsieur. Please remember this is much stronger than your English cider." Etienne said as he poured out two small wine glasses of the golden coloured liquid.

John held up his glass to Sherlock. "Here's to Sarah for asking us to take that test."

Sherlock nodded, clinking his glass with John's and taking a sip. "Here's to being in Quebec together."

The drink reminded John of the cider he drank when he was young, before he moved on to beer. It was much stronger though, a chilled wine instead of a light, bubbly beverage.

"Here's to you finishing that earlier sentence. What did you want me to do after I crawled into your lap?" John playfully raised his glass in a toast again, taking a large sip.

Sherlock was feeling the effects of all the wine as well. "Hmmmm...the same sort of things I want you to do now. The sort of things that will make you 'Four Continents Watson'." His look was heated.

John returned the gaze, sipping his wine. Sherlock seemed to be making all the signals that he was ready to take things further. Sex.

Was that what this whole day had been about? Had Sherlock thought it through, planned it that way? It was their third day in Quebec, their third 'date'. Was Sherlock thinking he had to stick having sex to that arbitrary schedule? Did he think John expected it by now? Were they both ready for this?

Looking over at Sherlock, it was still incredible how much things had changed between them in a few short weeks, in the last few years. From friends to thinking Sherlock was dead for two years. Then Sherlock back but John involved with Mary. Then the wedding, Rosie, and Mary's death.

And now they were trying to add in being lovers into that messy stew of emotions and history. It was crazy. Crazy.

Looking at Sherlock sitting there, perfectly at ease in his Saville Row suit, brilliant, beautiful, perfect. And John, even John all polished up at the spa and hairdressers, wearing a new suit, wasn't someone even a waiter thought of as a possible date of Sherlock's. He had dismissed him with a quick glance. Not in the same league at all.

Was this just two lonely men, clutching each other out of desperation, about to screw up the one great thing they had?

It had been such a nice day. Sherlock going out of his way, totally out of character, trying to be a good romantic partner for John. Trying to get John to love him back. But somehow now it all felt forced. Artificial romance, going through the motions. Dress up nice and go to an expensive restaurant. These are things men usually did to impress their women. Had Sherlock been reading up on romance in Cosmopolitan magazines and online, thinking this was it?

John broke his gaze away, letting it fall down to the bottle. "Hmmm...the brand name of this ice cider is 'Neige'. That's 'snow' in French." He lifted the bottle, refilling their glasses, spilling a little. "Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!"

Sherlock gave him an inpatient look. "I've had enough, and I think you have too."

"Oh, nonsense. The hotel is less than two blocks away. We don't have to worry about driving or anything." John impulsively grabbed Sherlock's glass and shot it down, and then did the same with his. "There. It's gone. I won't have any more. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic." Sherlock said flatly, looking down at the empty glasses. He turned, and signalled the server for the bill. Etienne practically ran to his side with it, but Sherlock didn't even spare him a glance. He quickly paid, and then stood up, waving John to the door.

The alcohol was really hitting John now, and he braced himself with a hand against the stone buildings as they slowly walked back to the hotel.

Sherlock didn't say anything in the elevator, or as they went down the hall.

John fished out his key card. "Um...thanks for a great dinner and everything today. I'm sorry I drank too much."

Taking the card from his hand, Sherlock opened John's room and helped him inside. "Let me help you out of that suit. I don't want you getting sick on it later." His hands were quick, undoing John's shirt and trousers. Soon the garments were hanging in the closet and John was only in his tee and pants.

"Look..." John took a bottle of water out of the mini fridge, offering it to Sherlock, and opening it for himself when Sherlock declined it. "We are supposed to meet Dave at 9 am tomorrow for that hiking crater stuff. I don't think I'll be up to it." He took a long swig of water.

"Should I message him to cancel?" Sherlock asked, his voice strangely flat.

John shook his head. "Um..no...you could still go with him. You are more into those shatter beds than I am. We'll do supper when you get back and you can tell me all about it."

Nodding, Sherlock left, going back to his room.

It was only after John had brushed his teeth, drank a whole bunch more water, and was in bed that he realized Sherlock had left without kissing John goodnight. It was the first time they hadn't done it since the test.

XXX

-A/N: I had them so high & happy...and then they crashed...


	7. Chapter 5

The large cappuccino tasted good, and was really all the breakfast John could handle right now. He had slept in a little, had a long shower, and drank more water. He didn't feel too hung over, just a little tired.

Physically he wasn't too bad, but emotionally he was a mess. What the hell had happened last night?

Sitting on a park bench, he calculated the time difference and called England with Skype.

"Hello! Or should I say _'Bonjour!_ '" Harry looked good, smiling widely in greeting.

John returned the smile. He missed her dear face. _"Bonjour._ How are things going for you today?"

Harry seemed good, even after a week of taking care of a toddler. "Doing well, Rosie misses her Daddy and Sherlock, keeps asking where you are."

"And what do you say?" John hoped the little girl wasn't confused by their absence.

"She doesn't understand that you are far away, but I found a book at the library on Canadian animals. She probably thinks you are hanging out with polar bears and buffalo." Harry joked.

John chuckled along. "We've seen lots of Canadian geese. And we went whale watching near here and a massive one swam by our boat. Maybe Sherlock will see more wildlife today. He's out hiking."

"Not together today? Trouble in paradise?" Harry's tone softened, looking at John with concern.

Sighing, John ran a hand through his hair. "We ran into a bit of a snag last night. Sherlock planned this whole incredible day for us..." John described everything, glad to be able to talk it over with Harry.

Harry shook her head when he finished. "Hmmm...what's the address for your hotel?"

"Why?" John was thrown by her question.

"Because I want to send you a big package of wool socks and some winter boots." Harry said, giving him an exasperated look.

John gave a half-chuckle at that. "You really think it's just that? Just cold feet?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, I get the feeling you really care about Sherlock, but you got nervous when it came to the end of the night. You drank too much deliberately as a way to get out of being intimate with him."

It made sense. But John felt confused about it, since they had been so comfortable kissing and touching other times.

"Look. You may think you are fine with being sexual with a man, but part of you may still be resisting it. This is a big step. Once you do this, you will be a bisexual man." Harry explained.

John considered this. "Most people have thought I already was. There have always been rumours about Sherlock and I."

"But you know the truth. Once you take this step with Sherlock, you have taken a step away from just being a heterosexual man. Maybe it isn't a big deal in your mind, but I think you should think about it. Make sure you are truly OK with it." Harry said, her eyes concerned.

John took her advice to heart. She had struggled with her sexual identity in her early twenties, before declaring herself a lesbian.

Taking a sip of tea, Harry looked at John closer. "Aside from the orientation change, you also have to think about your feelings about Sherlock. Are you ready to take these final steps and fully become his boyfriend?"

John nodded at the question. "It's why we took this vacation. Just some time away from distractions to focus on the change in our relationship, to see if it can work."

"How do you feel about it?"

That was The Question. John didn't think he was holding back because of the change to his orientation. He wasn't sure about his feelings towards Sherlock.

"I know for sure that we are friends, best friends. We have had our share of problems in the past, but we have come through them stronger. Closer. I love him as a friend, but I'm not sure if I have romantic love for him."

Harry looked like she wanted to hug him, and John regretted not being there with her now. He needed that hug desperately.

"Sweetie, I don't know what to say. Love is not something you can rush or force. I know you hoped to know how you feel by the end of this trip, but it's OK if you need more time. It may happen, but maybe it won't." Harry blinked fast, her eyes looking a little shiny.

John dashed a hand against his own eyes, rubbing away the wetness before he started crying in a public park. "I feel bad for Sherlock. He has had feelings for me for years, and I'm leaving him dangling now."

"Talk to him. He has to chose either giving you time to figure this out, or ending things completely if it's hurting him too much." Harry said, saying the things that were hard to say, but John needed to hear.

"End things?" John was shocked at those words. "You don't think we could go back to just being friends?"

Harry sighed. "Maybe you could. But maybe the feelings you have both brought to the surface won't sink back down that easily." She looked at her watch. "Sorry, John, but I have to pick up Rosie from daycare and take her over to Molly's for the night."

John understood. "Of course. Thanks for talking this over with me. You've given me a lot to think about. Give my love to Rosie, Clara and Molly."

XXX

The water was still and quiet. John focussed on the rhythm of his paddling, getting comfortable again with the motion. It had been years since he had been in a kayak, but he was remembering it all now.

He replayed everything as he moved across the water, thinking back on that cold January day when he had met Sherlock. Chuckling over how Sherlock had deduced him, and invited him to view the flat within a few minutes. How he warned John that he didn't talk for days and that he played the violin.

Thinking about all the cases they had investigated together, working all over London and sometimes outside of the area.

Thinking about quiet times they had together at the flat, reading the newspaper while eating breakfast or John watching the telly and Sherlock working with his microscope.

Thinking about times recently when Rosie was hard to settle, and John felt exhausted and at his wits end. Sherlock would take Rosie, walking to the window to talk with her in soft, low tones about everything out there, swaying his body as she settled, hypnotized by his voice and the motion.

Thinking about Sherlock during the question and answer session, how open and brave he had been. Looking back, John shook his head out how blind he had been to Sherlock's feelings. He could never unsee it now. They could never just go back to being just friends. Harry was right.

Would it hurt more to live together, knowing Sherlock wanted more, and John couldn't give it to him? Sherlock pushing down his feelings again, and John feeling guilty over it all? Or would it be better to be apart? Not dealing with the pain of unequal feelings on a daily basis?

John wanted to stay with Sherlock, cared for him so much. How long did he try this? How long to see if he felt more for Sherlock, if they could be a true couple? Weeks? Months? He felt awful at leaving Sherlock in that emotional limbo. Was it fair to him to keep his hopes up, kiss and flirt, when he wasn't sure if his feelings could grow into more?

He turned the kayak around, paddling back towards the city, the distinctive Chateau Frontenac high on its hill. Domes and church spires were dotted through the dense greenery of the hills, rising from both sides of the water.

As he got closer to the city, he was no closer to having the answers he needed.

XXX

 _"Bonjour. Êtes-vous prêt à commander?"_ (Are you ready to order?) The college-aged server had dark hair, her thick eyeliner and red lipstick reminding John of Betty Paige.

John got the gist of her question. _"Um...Que recommandez-vous?"_ (What do you recommend?) His French was rusty, but he thought he made sense. He waved down at the menu to help get his message across.

It was a quiet little bistro, with only a handful of tables occupied. Dark stone walls contrasted with the warm toned woodwork around the large windows and the sleek black cafe tables and chairs. John felt comfortable eating alone in its casual ambiance.

The server gave him a warm grin at his attempt at speaking French. "The steak with a whiskey pepper sauce is popular, or the bison wild mushroom risotto." Her English was accented, but easy to understand. John had found most people in the touristy areas were bilingual, and seemed to like it if he tried to speak French. The attempt was seen as a sign of respect to their culture.

"I suppose it is too late to have anything from the brunch menu." John had looked at the menus posted outside the restaurant, and had just barely missed the cutoff time for brunch.

The server glanced around. "It is not busy. I think the kitchen will allow it, just for you."

John grinned at her, and they discussed the menu items. She was warm and flirty, and John got the feeling she was actually a little interested, not just being friendly for her job. He had been around women enough over the years to recognize the signs.

He was glad he took her recommendation when the meal came. It was like a lemon French toast, covered in maple-caramelized pears, fresh blueberries, goat cheese, and a drizzle of caramel sauce. Chunks of _fleur de sel_ were dotted over it. It was a combination of sweet, salty and savory flavors that somehow worked. He had worked up an appetite from skipping breakfast and the long kayak trip.

The server brought him coffee after he was done, her tray holding two cups. "I know this is unusual, but would you mind if I sat with you for my break?"

John shook his head, and waved her to the other chair. She had taken off her apron and John noticed her slim body as she sat down, purely out of habit. "I'm John."

"Celeste." She passed him his coffee, and added sugar to hers. "You are visiting here from England?"

"Yes, just a relaxing get away. I go back Sunday." John replied. "Are you a college student?"

She straightened up, pushing her long dark hair behind an ear. She was wearing black skinny jeans, her long legs crossed. Although casually dressed in a white t-shirt with a red plaid unbuttoned shirt over it, her clothes were fitted enough to show her curves. John appreciated the show.

"Yes, I go back in the fall, studying chemistry. I took a few years off to work and travel, so I am older than many of the other students." Celeste said simply.

John thought she was likely around twenty-five, and liked her confidence and intelligence. She was comfortable in herself, and not afraid to show her interest in John.

A few months ago, he would have easily followed up on unspoken invitation she was giving. It would have been fun to have a few days with this much younger woman, both knowing it was a no-strings attached, short term vacation fling. But now something was holding him back.

"I am here with a friend. He's off hiking today around Charlevoix with a geologist we met." John said, hoping she got his message.

She gave a rueful smile, looking up at him through her lashes. "Hmmm...I must say, I am a little surprised. I thought from the way we were talking earlier...". She did not seem offended, just curious. "I am usually fairly good at reading men."

"Um...this is a little new to me. Being with him." John confessed, taking a sip of his coffee. "You are a lovely woman. I couldn't help but notice that."

She nodded in understanding and they chatted on, just enjoying each other's company. John even pulled out his phone to scroll through the pictures from the whale watching trip, describing it enthusiastically.

She was looking at him with a bit of an amused smile.

John stopped talking. "Oh, I'm sorry for going on and on like that. I'm probably boring you."

Celeste shook her head. "Not at all." She glanced down at his phone, at a picture of Sherlock on the zodiac, his hair messy from the wind, looking back at John with warm eyes. "Your man is very sexy. You are a lucky man."

Realizing how much he had probably been talking about Sherlock, John turned the phone over.

Her hand covered his, giving it a squeeze. "You are so in love with him. He's a lucky man too." She got up, clearing their dishes away as she went back to work.

XXX

Her words repeated in his head over and over as he walked back to the hotel, and as he had a long shower.

He had the opportunity to flirt with a gorgeous young French-Canadian woman, and instead he had gone on and on about Sherlock. All day, he had thought about their years together, and there were hard times, but there were so many great times as well. Even being away from him today, John missed him.

Chuckling to himself as he dried off, John pulled on the hotel bathrobe. When Sherlock got back, he would take him out for a good meal. Apologize for being such an ass the night before. Talk it all out, all his concerns and worries. It was only fair to tell Sherlock how he felt. Be brave.

There was a sound of the door shutting nearby. _Oh great. Sherlock's back._

Without thinking about it too much, John slipped his key card into the pocket of the bathrobe, and went across the hall. In the past few days, they had gotten in the habit of leaving the rooms unlocked and walking back and forth between them, with the comfort of being flatmates so long. John didn't bother to knock as he entered Sherlock's suite.

"Hey Sherlock, how was the hiking?" John called out, not seeing him in the main area.

"It was so fantastic, John." Sherlock's voice was a bit muffled, coming through the bathroom door. John could hear the water running, and then turning off. "We saw a whole field covered in shatter cones, and while climbing through some brush, a moose with antlers at least five feet wide ran past us, so fast we didn't have time to get a picture. Just staring after him in shock."

He came out, rubbing a towel over his face, and draped it over the back of his neck. His shirt was off, his hair messy, as Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, bending down to untie his hiking boots and kick them off. He looked up at John, shaking his head. "I wish you could have seen it, John. He was at least a foot taller than me."

There was something so beautiful about Sherlock sitting there like that, messy and talking so enthusiastically, that made John freeze. He didn't even breath for a few seconds, just staring, feeling stunned.

"John?"

Sherlock's concerned tone broke John out of the moment, and in three steps he was standing in front of Sherlock, tipping his head with both hands, and kissing him hard.

Jumping a little first in shock, Sherlock quickly recovered, his hands coming up to John's shoulders, returning the kisses just as hungrily. Groaning against John's mouth, the sound of pure want making him feel even more aroused.

Pushing Sherlock flat on the bed, John straddled him, not stopping their kisses for even a second. It was frantic and perfect.

Sherlock rolled John on to his back, looking down at him, breathing hard from the kissing. "Why? Why now?"

John made a keening noise, pushing a hand into Sherlock hair to pull him closer, kissing down his neck. "I want you. It feels right. Please, please Sherlock..."

They shared a few more hard kisses, Sherlock running a hand down John's bare chest. "You just showered. I should shower too. I want this to be good for us."

John grabbed his shoulders, not letting him move away. "Don't go. I like how you smell." He buried his face against Sherlock's chest, inhaling deeply. Kissing and then biting the skin there. "So fucking sexy."

His hands went down to Sherlock's jeans, and this time, no hands were pushing his away. John slid the jeans and underwear downwards, having a hard time remembering to breath. They were doing this. Actually getting naked together.

Sherlock helped getting the clothes off and shifted to lie properly on the bed. His long fingers tugged John's sash open, and John threw the robe onto the floor.

The late afternoon sun streaming through the drapes gave the room a soft golden glow. John stretched out beside Sherlock, both of them looking their fill. He had seen parts of Sherlock's body before, but never fully undressed like this. Pale skin, long toned muscles, slim build, strong legs. Beautiful.

It seemed strange that Sherlock was equally entranced by his body, his compact, sturdy slim build. The shoulder scar. John knew he wasn't perfect, but he was comfortable with his body.

They both looked for a few moments, before rolling together, kissing, touching. A need long denied, aching to be satisfied. John couldn't get enough, just wanted more, wanted everything.

XXX

"Can I shower now?" Sherlock said sleepily, lifting his head from John's shoulder.

John gave him a possessive squeeze. "I don't know. I kind of like you like this. Sweaty and messy. Smelling like us."

"Us." Sherlock said with a bit of a growl, close to John's ear. He planted a kiss on his neck, his whiskers scratchy against the sensitive skin. "I like the sound of that."

Turning on to his side, John looked over at Sherlock. "I like the sound of you. The way you were moaning..." He ducked down to kiss Sherlock again, never getting enough. His hand moved down his chest.

Sherlock's stomach rumbled, and they both laughed. "Speaking of sounds..." Shifting, Sherlock sat up in the bed. "As much as I want to stay here with you, I'm really hungry. I didn't eat much breakfast and didn't bring enough food for lunch."

John nodded, sitting up. "OK, let's shower and go out for a big dinner. I owe you a good one after being such a jerk last night."

Drawing him into the bathroom, Sherlock started the shower. "I don't blame you for last night. I was pushing things, and you weren't ready yet."

The hot water felt good. It was a fancy hotel, with an overhead rain shower head and wall mounted jets that sprayed water over them, making it warm and comfortable. Sherlock lathered up his hands with his expensive body wash, and took his time rubbing it all over John. John returned the favour, enjoying this chance to explore every inch of Sherlock's body. Getting to know all of it. He loved shampooing Sherlock's thick hair, and then feeling his strong hands massaging his scalp when he washed John's hair. It was intimate, taking care of each other this way.

Eventually, they were clean and dry. Looking presentable again. "I think I saw an Indian restaurant not far from here." John said as he pulled his bathrobe back on.

"Do you mean aboriginal food? Like bannock and sagamité?" Sherlock asked, dressed in boxer briefs and looking over his closet.

John shook his head. "They don't use the word 'Indian' for aboriginal people here. They say 'First Nations' or 'Inuit'." He couldn't resist giving Sherlock a kiss, just because he could. "I was thinking of food from India. I've craving a spicy curry and basmati rice."

He couldn't resist tugging Sherlock closer, wrapping him in a tight hug and kissing him deeply. Things had been simmering since the shower, and seeing Sherlock in just his pants was somehow just making him want to peel them back off. "I want you, Sherlock." His hands slid down to that gorgeous ass, kissing him again.

Sherlock groaned, rubbing against John, and returning his kiss. "I want you too, but I also want some pakora, some biryani, and some samosas."

Chuckling, John pulled back. "OK, OK. Supper first, then you as my dessert."

Sherlock grabbed some clean trousers. "I promise I'll make the wait worth it."

John went over to his own room. "I know it will be."

XXX

-A/N: Thanks for all the comments so far on the story. It's good to see you are getting into it. Warning, the notes below cover Playboy models, some background why French-Canadians get pissed if you speak English to them, Hobbit restaurants, essential moose info, and a broad overview of indigenous people in Canada. Sheesh...I write weird stories! Lol

-Betty Paige: She is best known as being a pin-up girl in the 1950s, with her iconic black hair, red lipstick and black cat's eye make-up enhancing her blue eyes. She was the centrefold in the January 1955 Playboy magazine, making her one of the earliest 'Playmates'. There grew to be a bit of a cult following of her style since the 1980's.

-Seven Years War: Centuries before WWI, there was a global conflict from 1756 - 1763, affecting Europe, the Americas, West Africa, India, and the Philippines. Two European coalitions formed, with England, Prussia and Portugal on one side and France, Russia, Sweden, Spain, and the Holy Roman Empire (Austria) on the other.  
For the part of the war in the Americas, the outnumbered French colonists (60,000) teamed up with the Indians against the British colonists (2 million). This was called the French and Indian War (1754-1763).  
Between 1758-1760, the Brits focused on capturing the Colony of Canada, and were successful against the French on the Plains of Abraham in 1759, gaining control of the Quebec City region. It was a pivotal battle, and led to France ceding Canada and most of New France to Britain within a few years.  
French Canadians have always resisted assimilation into English culture. Although Canada's official languages are French and English, in Quebec, the sole official language is French. There have been political movements for Quebec to separate from Canada, with a referendum in 1995 that had 49.6% voting for becoming its own sovereign nation.

-Brunch Restaurant: I couldn't resist having John eat at 'Le Hobbit Bistro'. The restaurant website says 'this sympathetic and unpretentious bistro on rue St-Jean is like the character of Tolkien', in that although it is small, it 'carries within it all the grandeur of a history whose echo is still heard today'. The stone building dates back to 1845 and the website details its long history. The food items I described are on their menu and sound delicious. _Fleur de sel_ is a salt that forms as a thin, delicate crust on the surface of seawater as it evaporates.

-Moose: The largest of the deer family, the bull moose get to be 1.4 -2.1 m (4.6 - 6.9 ft) tall at the shoulder, and weigh 380 - 700 kg (838 - 1543 lbs). The antlers typically span 1.2-1.5m (3.9 -4.9 ft), and differ from other deer by being flat (palmate) instead of like twigs (dendritic). They live in temperate to sub-arctic climates including Canada, Alaska, Russia, and Sweden.  
In the Canadian province of Newfoundland, the moose population is growing due to low levels of predators and parasites. It is making moose-vehicle collisions a huge concern. The animals' dark color makes them hard to see at night, and, because moose are so tall, their eyes are above the level of headlights and don't reflect light like other animals'. Having a 1000 lb animal crashing through your windshield is often deadly for the animal and the people in the car.

-Bannock and Sagamité: Bannock is dough made with a blend of flour, yeast, salt, and water, then wrapped around a stick held over a fire and turned constantly until it turns into crispy bread. Sagamité is a hearty soup meal made with game meat, squash, corn, and red beans.

-First Nations/Inuit/Métis: The first inhabitants of North America migrated from Siberia, when the continents were connected by a land bridge during the last ice age (15,000 years ago). Different indigenous societies settled the land, most having permanent settlements, agriculture, complex societal hierarchies, and trading networks. Because of the large distances between the groups, they developed their own languages and traditions, as best suited to the climate and resources of each area. In Canada, the term 'First Nations' has been used since the 1980s. Some consider the term 'Indian' offensive. In addition to the Inuit (indigenous people of the Arctic) and Métis (mixed-race descendants of early unions usually between indigenous women and European settler men), there are currently 634 recognized First Nations governments or bands in Canada.


	8. Chapter 6

John kissed Sherlock softly, feeling happy and relaxed. It was their last full day in Quebec and they just wanted to be lazy. It had been odd at first to wake up next to Sherlock, feeling his long arms wrapped around him. But when Sherlock nuzzled into him with a low moan, John sunk into it.

It had been a long, wonderful night, finally being naked together and having the time to really explore, learning each other's bodies.

"What do you want to do today?" John asked, when Sherlock seemed more alert.

The answer was kisses pressed along his neck, and a large hand sliding down his chest. Sherlock shifted closer, and feeling his erection rubbing against his stomach made John groan, and push back into him. He was hard again, marveling at his body's responsiveness. He hadn't had this much sex with anyone for ages.

* * *

A long time later, they finished off a huge decadent room service breakfast, showered and dressed casually.

The weather was mild so they acted like tourists, renting mopeds to tour around a pastoral island nearby, stopping to buy local cheese, bread, and fruit. Back on the mainland, they went to a waterfall, eating their lunch nearby and just feeling lazy.

"So, what should I call you? My boyfriend, my partner, my flatmate, my friend?" John was leaning against a tree, toying with Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock was lying down on his back, his head on John's lap. "I could call you my John."

John chuckled at that. "People will probably think you are a sex worker and I'm your customer if you do that. It's supported by you being younger and so much better looking than I am."

Rolling his eyes at the comment, Sherlock sat up. "Fancy a shag? I'm expensive but I'm worth it."

Sherlock gave him a coy look, and John felt that familiar tug of attraction, shaking his head at how easily he was aroused around Sherlock lately. It hardly took a look, or being close to him, for John to get hard, wanting him closer for a deep kiss.

His thoughts must have been easy for the detective to deduce, as he leaned in to kiss John hungrily.

John felt a bit dazed when Sherlock lifted his head, giving them both a chance to catch their breath. "I thought sex workers didn't normally kiss."

Sherlock gave him a warm look. "I usually don't, but you are special." He kissed down John's neck, nipping at his skin in a way that made John moan.

"That feels good, but maybe we should wait for the hotel room." John pushed a hand into Sherlock's hair, tugging on it lightly.

But Sherlock didn't stop, his mouth doing delicious things on John's sensitive neck, while his hand slid up his thigh. "I'm just trying to keep my customer happy."

"Sherlock..." John groaned, tugging now at Sherlock's hair to move him away, even though he was so turned on.

Lifting his head, Sherlock surveyed the area. "There's nobody around for miles. And there is something I've always wanted to do to you somewhere public. It's a big fantasy of mine."

This man was going to be the death of him. "Fantasy? About me?" The idea of Sherlock fantasizing about him was so hot.

With a wicked grin that showed his reckless side, Sherlock was unzipping John's fly, and reaching inside.

John knew he should stop this. They were below a tree, and the park was fairly quiet right now, but someone could walk by at any time and see them. But it felt so good, he just leaned back with a soft moan.

"Do you know how many times you sat beside me and I wanted to do this?" Sherlock whispered, his teeth giving John's earlobe a little tug. "In the back of a black cab after we solved a case, or in a dark, dirty alley after we chased a suspect down..."

Images of doing that with Sherlock had John bucking his hips upward, getting even more aroused. Needing more...

"Sherlock, stop... I'm going to... ah...". John pushed at Sherlock's shoulder, but the berk just stroked him faster.

John stiffened, clamping his mouth closed to keep from moaning, arching his hips up. This was going to happen, right here...

With a quick look around, Sherlock dropped his head into John's lap, taking him fully into his mouth.

John could only push a hand into his dark curls, trying to keep quiet as he closed his eyes. He couldn't hold back.

A minute later, Sherlock sat back up with a devilish glint in his eyes, zipping John up. A quick glance around showed they were still alone. He chuckled, looking far too pleased with himself.

Wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, John yanked him into a deep, hot kiss. "I can't believe you did that." He said breathily against Sherlock's lips, pulling back only enough to look into his beautiful eyes.

Sherlock had surprised him so much this trip. The man he had known for all these years was still there, but this warm, caring man was there too. This sexy, naughty man.

Sliding a hand up Sherlock's long thigh, John cupped his hardness, giving a small squeeze. "Should I do the same for you? Right here?"

Chuckling, Sherlock pulled away. "John, we are in a public park. That would be indecent. Surely we can restrain ourselves until we are back in the hotel." He moved to start packing up the remains of their lunch.

He was on all fours, that gorgeous ass so close by that John was pretty sure Sherlock knew what he was doing. Teasing John. John took advantage of the blatant invitation, running his hand over those delicious curves like he had wanted to that other time in the park.

Sherlock pressed back against his hand, still slowly packing up.

John moved to be able to reach more, running a hand between Sherlock's legs, feeling how hard he was. Teasing and stroking. Kneading hands into his ass. He gave into temptation, leaning in to give it a little nip.

Sherlock straightened up so he was kneeling on the blanket, and turned around to glare at John as his hand rubbed the spot. "Ow! Did you just bite my ass?"

Moving closer, John planted a kiss on the back of his neck. "Yes. You were practically waving it in my face, and I couldn't resist."

"It was hard enough that I bet it left a mark." Sherlock said, his voice so rough with arousal that John felt an answering pang in his recently sated cock.

"You like that idea?" The sex between them last night had been exploring, learning each other, and passionate. But they had both been a little careful with each other. This was Sherlock maybe signaling that he didn't want it so gentle.

Sherlock nodded, his eyes so dark, so full of heat.

They were soon scrambling to pack everything and get back on the scooters. The trip back they sped along, racing each other. They dropped them off at the rental place, practically running back to the nearby hotel.

In Sherlock's room, John had him pressed against the back of the door, kissing him hard and desperate, like they hadn't just left the bed a few hours ago. In a few minutes, they were both naked, and John was pushing Sherlock down on to the bed to crawl over him.

The sex was frantic and fantastic. John was able to hold out longer, from his earlier orgasm, and teased Sherlock mercilessly, getting him hot and begging before giving them both the release they were craving.

John smiled later, a tangled up pile of sweaty limbs with Sherlock. Both still panting and boneless. "Sherlock, oh my God, that was just incredible."

Kissing his way along John's spine, Sherlock hummed in agreement. "I think I'll have bruises on my hips from your fingers, along with bite marks on the back of my neck." He nipped at John's nape before swinging his long legs off the edge of the bed. He stretched with a pleased groan, and stood up. "I'm going to run a hot bath. The ones in this hotel are huge, definitely made for two."

John took his hand to plant a kiss on his palm. "You go ahead and get started. I'll be there in a minute."

Nodding, Sherlock gave him a fond smile before sauntering to the bathroom, naked and beautiful, knowing John's eyes were on him.

Rolling onto his back, John stared at the ceiling, just needing a second for his brain to catch up, still reeling from everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. They had gotten over the slight awkwardness of new lovers to knowing each other well. Part of John had wondered if sex with a man would be as satisfying, as good, as sex with women. That question had been definitely answered, repeatedly answered.

Would it always be like this, this good? Was it just because it was with a man, the naughty novel thrill of it, or because it was Sherlock? Would there be more hot sex because it was two men, testosterone driving them on? The hint of danger in the park and then racing the mopeds had definitely fed into things. Would it be like that in London, when they did a case? Would they be racing back home like they had to the hotel today? The thought made John groan at the possibilities.

Sex was always an important part of a good relationship for John. He liked a partner who matched him, was as passionate and open. It was amazing that Sherlock was like that, after all those years of seeming practically asexual.

And as much as the sex had been hot, there had been tender, sweet moments too. They took their time, pleasing each other, drawing out moans. Eye contact during those vulnerable moments, letting the other see them at their most open. Holding nothing back. Complete trust in a way he didn't usually have with a new lover. It was incredibly intimate. Shockingly intimate. Sherlock had held nothing back, being brave again in a way that brought tears to John's eyes.

Getting out of bed, John walked naked into the bathroom. He leaned against the door jam, taking in the scene. Sherlock was in the huge oval tub with bubbles up to his shoulders, head leaning back against the rim. He looked relaxed and so, so beautiful he took John's breath away.

He opened his eyes, likely sensing he was being watched, and his eyes warmed in a way John would never tire of seeing. "Oh, there you are. Join me."

John felt drawn like a moth to the flame, and had Sherlock shift so he could sit behind him. Feeling the man leaning back against his chest, hugging him. Washing his hair with firm circles against his scalp, making Sherlock moan in contentment. Seeing him so relaxed and happy made John hold him even tighter.

* * *

Planting a kiss against Sherlock's temple, John shifted to sit up straighter. "Hey, sweetheart, time to wake up. We are landing."

Sherlock blinked several times, his eyes going from sleepy to sharp. He yawned as he sat up, shifting his seat belt to a more comfortable position.

They had slept most of the flight, catching up on what they had missed the last couple nights. It had made the flight go by incredibly fast.

John looked out the window, the lights of London spread out below. What would it be like for them now? Would they be able to move the way they had been in Quebec to their normal lives? Or would they get caught up in their regular routines and the romance would fade?

Sherlock was quiet as they landed and went through customs. He seemed to be watching John, his expression carefully neutral.

Once they had their luggage and were outside the airport, it was like the reality of normal life was back, and John looked up at Sherlock. "Um, would you mind taking our bags back to the flat while I go pick up Rosie? I'm dying to see her." It had been the longest he had been away from her, even though there had been daily Skype calls. He had to see her, hold her, as soon as he could.

Sherlock rested a hand on John's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "No, of course not. See you soon."

He paused, looking down at John, but John was already pulling out his phone and scrolling to Harry's number. With a quick nod, he turned to flag down a cab and was gone.

* * *

"Papa!" Rosie screeched when he appeared at Harry and Clara's flat barely an hour later. She ran to him on her short little legs, and he scooped her up. Her breathless giggles when he kissed all over her dear face went straight to his heart.

"I missed you, my little ragamuffin." He beamed down at her blue eyes, so much like his own. She was starting to look more like Mary, but she definitely had John's eyes.

Harry stepped close to give him a one armed hug, not wanting to squish Rosie. "She was a wonderful houseguest. We loved having her here."

Clara nodded in agreement, stepping up to his other side, and planting a kiss on his cheek. "It was good practice for us. Helped us see if we could handle having a baby during the week." She gave Harry a warm glance, and looked down at Rosie.

John chuckled, looking between the two women. "Oh really?"

She nodded back at John. "Maybe in a year or so, Rosie will have a cousin."

"Maybe in a year or so, Rosie's cousin will have two uncles." Harry's tone was teasing, her eyes watching John closely.

The words sunk in. Marry Sherlock? Be husbands? The idea hadn't even crossed John's mind before.

Clara chuckled, passing John Rosie's diaper bag. "Harry! Things are still new between them. Give them time to figure things out."

With hugs and heartfelt thank yous, John was soon in the back of a cab, cuddling with his daughter. He had missed her, his love for this precious little person like an ache in his chest as he heard her giggle up at him.

With her on his hip, he made his way up the stairs at Baker Street. It was starting to get dark, a little chill in the air.

Opening the door, he dropped the diaper bag and set Rosie down on her feet.

"Sherl!" Rosie cooed, her face a huge smile. She ran over, launching herself at the large man sitting in his armchair.

John closed the door, leaning back against it. The fire was burning, giving the room a warm glow, and there was a tray of tea on the table. Sherlock was hugging Rosie, telling her she wasn't allowed to stay away at her aunties' place so long because he missed her and planting a big loud kiss on her cheek to make her giggle.

Watching that was like a punch in the chest, and John was glad the door supported him as he swayed on his feet. This was it. Home. Family. Love. Everything.

Sherlock stood up, still holding Rosie, swinging her in his arms in the way she loved to make her giggle even more, gazing up at him in pure adoration. John knew how she felt.

Walking to Sherlock's side, he glanced down at his happy daughter, and then into Sherlock's incredible green eyes. He leaned in, giving him a firm, deep kiss.

Pulling back only a hair, he looked into Sherlock's eyes. "I love you, Sherlock." He meant it from the bottom of his heart, with every cell in his body. Knowing it was true, deep and lasting. Letting Sherlock in to see with his incredibly observant eyes just how much John meant it.

Sherlock gasped, and his hold on Rosie loosened enough that she made a little surprised noise.

John caught her, and set her on her feet to toddle over to her toys.

"Say it again." Sherlock pulled John to stand right in front of him, his hands trembling.

With a wide, happy smile he couldn't hold back, John repeated the words. "I love you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, with all my heart."

He saw as Sherlock took in the words, almost disbelieving at first, and as he looked at John, the look changed, warming as John held his gaze easily. Letting him in with complete openness. Knowing and trusting him completely. He knew him, inside and out, as Sherlock knew him, and he loved every part that made up this incredible, unique man. His man.

It was hard to know who moved first, but they were holding each other tight, so hard it almost hurt, but it felt so good. There were a hundred fumbling kisses, both giddy and laughing. Tears of happiness streaming from John's eyes, and likely Sherlock's too.

"I love you, I love you..." Sherlock whispered between kisses, his voice a reverent chant.

They were only interrupted by Rosie tugging on John's jacket. "Papa, loo, loo..."

John chuckled, taking Rosie's hand and passing it to Sherlock. "Would you help our daughter out with that? I could really use a cup of tea."

Sherlock's eyes widened at John's word choice, and then he whisked Rosie off to the bathroom.

John undid his coat, hanging it on the old hooks beside Sherlock's Belstaff. They looked good beside each other, and John gave them a pat before pouring himself some tea.

* * *

A couple hours later, they had eaten a light dinner and Rosie was in bed. John settled down in his armchair with a mug of tea, leaving one for Sherlock beside his chair. He pulled out his book, listening as Sherlock tinkered around in the kitchen. He had packed away his experiments before the trip and mentioned defrosting some toes to work on tomorrow.

Sherlock sauntered into the living room a few minutes later, and picked up his tea. He took a long sip, but instead of sitting down into his own chair, sat on the arm of John's.

John glanced up at him with a grin at the change. "Are you comfortable like that?"

Letting out a huff, Sherlock shook his head and leaned down to give John a little kiss. "I think we should go furniture shopping tomorrow. We need something we can both fit on."

"There's always the sofa." John waved towards it, feeling amused.

Shaking his head, Sherlock didn't seem to like the idea. "It's good for lying on, but not great for sitting. I was thinking of an armchair for two people."

"They have a name for that, you know." John smirked, charmed by Sherlock thinking about all this. "It's called a love seat."

Sherlock made a face at that. "I kind of love and hate that name." He leaned down to give some more kisses, and ended up in John's lap somehow.

"Do you think we are ready for this step? Buying furniture together is pretty serious stuff. It lasts a long time. We have to be happy with our choice." John teased between kisses.

Sherlock rested his forehead against John's. "I'm sure of my choice. Are you?"

"Very, very sure. Well, we better get a high quality love seat, so it will last years and years." John's hand slipped to Sherlock's hip, tugging him closer. Never getting enough.

"We can always get another one if we wear it out." Sherlock kissed down into John's collar.

John shifted. "There's another piece of furniture we are likely to wear out first. Shall we go to bed?"

Sherlock was up, grabbing John's hand, and tugging him into his bedroom within seconds. His eyes were heated and intense. "You don't know how many times I've fantasized about having you in here with me like this."

John moaned, pulling Sherlock close. "Mmmmm show me. Show me your fantasy."

It was like a switch was flicked on, and John was swept into a sensual storm. He couldn't even think, just feel, as he surrendered to whatever Sherlock wanted. Trusting him, loving him. Wanting him desperately. Nothing held back.

"Wow...". John tried to breathe normally again a little later. "Mmmm I like your fantasies."

Sherlock gathered him up in a tight hug. "Good, because I have them about every part of the flat. And many places around London."

John chuckled. "Hmmm... And I had worried that we wouldn't be as good together back here as we were on vacation."

"What do you think now?" The question was sleepy.

Turning in Sherlock's arms, John gave him a kiss. "It's even better. This is us. The flat, Rosie, real life. Like before, but knowing we are together. In love. Solid."

"So, you are OK about being openly together here?" Sherlock seemed less tired, both of his eyes trained on John. "I wasn't sure, at the airport..."

John nodded. "I wasn't sure either, not until we were back here and I saw you with Rosie. I'm sure now, and I want everyone to know about us. Do you?"

"Yes, everyone." Sherlock leaned in for a last kiss. "Love you." He cuddled in, and was soon asleep.

Chuckling that Sherlock was conforming to the stereotypical male behaviour of falling asleep right after sex, John realized he was free to do so as well. Shifting to spoon around Sherlock, John was soon asleep too.

* * *

-Disclaimer: I own nothing.

-A/N: Thank you so much for reading this series. :D

-Île d'Orléans: This island is in the Saint Lawrence River, about 5 km east of Quebec City. It is about 75 km (47 miles) in circumference, with many farms growing produce like strawberries, apples, potatoes and wineries. It is know as a 'microcosm of traditional Quebec', with attracts tourists with numerous bed-and-breakfast inns, regional cuisine restaurants, roadside fruit stands, art galleries and craft shops.

-Montmorency Falls: About 12 km (7.5 miles) east of Quebec City, there are 84 meters tall (151 feet), making them 30 meters higher than Niagara Falls.


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